


I Met A Girl, I Met A Goddess

by BelladonnaInBloom



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Hackle Summer Trope Challenge, Pining, Pre-Relationship, retreat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:41:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24956248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelladonnaInBloom/pseuds/BelladonnaInBloom
Summary: Five years prior to her starting at Cackle’s, Hecate meets a woman named Ada at a retreat for magical educators.  When Ada is called away unexpectedly, Hecate thinks that she’ll never see this woman again.
Relationships: Ada Cackle/Hecate Hardbroom
Comments: 8
Kudos: 38
Collections: The Hackle Summer Trope Challenge





	I Met A Girl, I Met A Goddess

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Witch" by be steadwell - "I met a girl, I met a goddess, and there were stars just burning in her eyes"

Hecate carefully stepped through the crowded row of witches to take her seat in the close, overfull auditorium. They’ve certainly packed as many as would fit into this room, she thought and shifted in her seat, spacing herself as much as she could from the other attendees.

Not that she minded the discomfort all that much in this case. She was too excited to hear Robin Wardwell speak about her most recent experiments. It was the whole reason she had come to this conference in the first place, although the other speakers had captured her interest as well.

In the few remaining minutes before Miss Wardwell was to begin, Hecate turned her head slowly, scanning the faces in the overcrowded room with care. If anyone was to observe her, they would imagine her to be killing time, scanning the crowd perhaps for someone she knew with whom she could await the start of the lecture. But Hecate’s search was not so aimless. She was looking for a very specific face, one that she couldn’t exactly claim to know but one she sought nonetheless. 

It had been nearly five years since she had first seen that face, those auburn curls, those twinkling, mischievous eyes. Perhaps five years to the date, now that she thought about it, certainly the weather was much the same. It had been an educational retreat not unlike the one in which she currently sat. Although as Hecate remembered, she had been enjoying it far less...

… Five years earlier

Hecate had been thrilled when the advertisement for Bristol Annual Witching Education Seminar had gone up on her college’s bulletin board. Little could she have guessed that the seminar would be a series of speeches where perfectly capable witches threw around words like ‘modernize’, ‘technology’, and ‘simplification’ as if those were the only ones that they knew.

The first two days of the three day excursion had mostly seen Hecate either voicing her dissenting opinions only to be soundly ignored, or simply biting her tongue so bloody that she feared it might never recover. 

She sat alone as her other peers had gone to speak to whoever the last inane witch had been. Hecate awaited the arrival of the next speaker in a silent agony, glancing at the stubbornly lethargic clock, practically itching to get out of this seat, this room, this ridiculous retreat. 

Beneath the clock stood a group of older witches, established teachers most likely. They were all chatting easily as if they’d known each other for thirty years, which some of them probably had. They were all fairly unremarkable really; Hecate could hardly tell one from the other.

Although there was one among the crowd who caught her eye. Standing near the edge, she saw a woman with soft auburn curls throw her head back in laughter. The warm tresses shook around her face and she tucked them behind her ears as she tried to pull herself together. Eventually, the laughter stopped but she was still standing there with a subtle smirk on her face, eyes dancing with the memory of the humor of whatever had been said. 

Hecate found herself unconsciously smiling at the sight of this stranger, whose expression she found inexplicably engaging. She continued to watch out of the corner of her eye as the crowd took its seat in preparation for the next speech. 

As the speaker began, Hecate rolled her eyes before the first sentence was even complete. To Hecate’s dismay, the witch was a representative from a company called Quick-Brew potions, whatever monstrosity must be indicated by such a name.

She slid her eyes across the room once more. The woman’s face had made no discernible shift towards scorn or appreciation, yet that cheeky grin had faded completely and she now listened with the utmost attention. Her gaze was sharp and perceptive, and she was subconsciously biting her lip ever so gently as she thought. Once again, Hecate found herself smiling softly at this stranger without even realizing she was doing it.

Although Hecate might not have realized what she was doing, someone else certainly did. This voyeuristic moment was soon cut short when the woman’s eyes abruptly slid to the right and met Hecate’s own with a questioning stare.

Mortified at being caught, Hecate snapped her head back towards the stage and watched as if with rapt attention. She hoped it appeared that she had only gazed in that direction for a moment, but she knew her wide-eyed stare and the nervous rise and fall of her chest must have indicated otherwise. How foolish she must look to be caught staring so openly at a woman she had never so much as spoken to.

When the speech concluded, Hecate considered escaping this room for tea or a stroll before the next activity, but before she could make any decision to move, she was startled by a voice that asked, “Do you mind if I sit here?”

Hecate turned, about to say that her classmate was sure to return at any moment and reclaim the chair when she saw that the voice belonged to the woman at whom she had been staring for such an indecorous amount of time. 

“Not at all,” she replied, her tone hesitant as she tried to read the expression on the woman’s face.

“Thank you,” the woman said, taking the seat with a smile. 

“It doesn’t seem like you've particularly enjoyed the speeches today,” the woman commented casually, turning from the stage to face Hecate directly. It would only be later that Hecate would hang on the significance of this statement, an admission that she hadn’t been the only one watching.

“I certainly have not,” Hecate said immediately. “All these ridiculous talks could be summed up that patience and hard work are no longer values that we wish to teach young witches and that we ought to do our best to make sure they never develop such out of date attributes. If only they would have been so concise, we could have been on our way two days ago”

The woman chuckled, but not unkindly. “Well, you certainly take a hard line there...” she said, gesturing for Hecate to fill in the gap.

“Hecate, Hecate Hardbroom” she said, picking up on the woman’s cue.

“Well met, Hecate.” The woman said her name softly as if committing it to memory. “I am Ada.”

Hecate nodded . “Well met, Ada. I take it then that you do not agree with my ‘hard line’?”

“I didn’t say that,” Ada shrugged. “In fact, I'd say we probably see a great deal of things the same way. I often feel like there is not enough respect for the old ways in modern academia. No matter how appealing, newer and faster is not necessarily better,” Ada said simply, causing Hecate to turn to her with a wide-eyed look of surprise. “You look shocked,” Ada commented.

Hecate shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’m just not used to people agreeing with me about such things. Especially not _here_ ,” she drawled the last word as if ‘here’ referred to the first ring of hell.

Ada fought to contain another soft chuckle. “Well, don’t give me too much credit. I do believe that occasionally, a bit of a modern touch can be just the thing as long as the changes are adopted selectively as they are necessary and useful, not as a response to trend,” Ada concluded simply.

Although Hecate had a hard time considering what change would truly be necessary, she couldn’t exactly argue with the rational moderation of such a statement and she nodded her acquiescence. 

“Are you a teacher?” Ada asked.

“No, I’m in my last year of training,” Hecate replied. “Are you?… a teacher, I mean.”

“Yes, I am. I finished my training well... getting to be quite a few moons ago now,” Ada said, averting her gaze a little. “Do you have your eye on a specialty yet?”

“I’d like to teach potions, if I am able,” Hecate replied firmly, eyes lighting up a bit at the mention of her favorite subject. 

“Oh, how interesting. So few witches have the true knack that it takes to be a good potions mistress,” Ada said with enthusiasm. She looked at Hecate in silence, considering her for a moment. “Tell me, have you read Wardwell’s latest article on infusions of rosehips?”

“Yes, of course I have. It was a brilliant conclusion, although I do take issue with a few of her methods,” Hecate said, starting off on a tangent that up until now, she’d mostly been able to recite only in her own head. She was so invested in her discussion that she hadn’t realized just how intently Ada was watching her, eyes twinkling with gentle amusement as she nodded along. 

Hecate lowered her gaze and blushed slightly at the attention. “I’m sorry,” she said with a soft, self-conscious laugh. “I get a bit carried away about these things.” And I’ve been told it can be very irritating, she thought silently to herself.

“Not at all, I was enjoying your point of view quite a bit,” Ada said. Ada was more than willing to share her own opinions on that article and more. Once again, Hecate found herself staring, an exciting interest building inside her.

Hecate considered her face, this woman was clearly older than herself, which figured. Hecate frequently found herself attracted to older women. To her, the confidence and ease of age had far more appeal than the simpering insecurities of youth. Not that such a preference always worked out for her so well in the long run. She found that most women looking to date younger were looking for someone peppy and pliable and she had never been accused of being either.

Even beyond romance, too often older witches refused to take her seriously. By now, she was used to demanding that people take her so. But with Ada, no demands had needed to be made for her to look upon Hecate as an equal, whose points of view could not be dismissed as the result of inexperience or naivete. 

Their conversation had shifted to talk of potions and of herbs. Hecate found out that one of Ada’s favorite herbs was marjoram, which suited her somehow. Sweet without being shallow, strong without losing kindness.

As each new topic was introduced, Hecate was actively trying to contain the unbecoming level of excitement that she felt, but she knew that Ada could sense it. How Ada had so quickly learned that the crooked and thorny path to Hecate’s heart was paved with knowledge of academic journals and herbal remedies was a mystery, but one Hecate was becoming increasingly grateful for. 

“Ada,” an older woman called out, gesturing that Ada was to join her. 

Ada turned back to the woman and nodded. She looked disappointed in what she was about to say. “I’m sorry, I have to be off. But I do hope that we can continue our conversation at another time?” Ada asked, looking at Hecate hopefully.

“As do I,” Hecate said quickly, her enthusiasm palpable in the air.

Ada smiled gratefully and rested her hand over Hecate’s for a moment. “Later, then” she said and turned to be off.

Hecate was flushed and jittery from the conversation and she found it difficult to sit still in her seat. “Later,” she heard Ada’s voice repeat in her mind as she watched her walk away. 

“Later.”

...

But that later never came. Hecate had looked and looked over every crowd in every room of that conference and could never find a glimpse of Ada or even of the woman who had called her away. She felt exceedingly foolish for not even asking her last name, or at what academy she was employed. 

Well, she had figured that it didn’t matter. It clearly hadn’t been meant to be, not that such sentiment made her feel much better, no matter how often people said it. She found that fate was rarely as comforting a reality as people made it out to be.

The next conference she had attended, she had been less irritated with the subject matter but not less bored with her fellow attendees. She longed to speak to someone who would understand her, whom she would understand. Ada popped into her head and Hecate found herself examining faces in the crowd hopefully. If Ada was a teacher who frequented such events, there was no reason that she couldn’t be at this one as well. 

After that, it had become a habit with her, one she hadn’t tried particularly hard to break. Every meeting, every conference, she would think of that woman who had made her heart beat only to disappear into the ether as if she had never existed. Hecate imagined approaching her from behind, saying her name softly and seeing her face light up anew. She smiled at the thought, at this perpetually unsatisfying ritual she’d created for herself. 

She knew she had become a little fixated on this woman, this one who got away. But it was hard for Hecate not to fixate on someone she liked. She found that she was hardly interested in anyone, not as a friend or as a lover; everybody bored her. So when she found someone with whom she could share anything at all, it was all too easy for her to obsess just a little about them. The shape of their lips, the erudite twinkle in their eyes, the curve of their body as they walked away.

At this point, Hecate had probably thought about Ada for more minutes than their entire interaction had amounted to. It was more than likely, she considered, that she had made Ada up out of thin air, dozed off in the stuffy room and dreamt of her salvation from that ceaseless boredom. 

And even if this Ada had been real, most likely, she had blown her quite out of proportion by now. The woman with an appealing laugh and a knowledge of potions had been made into the woman of her dreams quite by her own devising, she was sure of it. But such conclusions never stopped her from scanning the room just once more.

...Later that year

“Well, Miss Hardbroom, I must say that I am very pleased that you’ve chosen to accept our offer,” Mrs. Alma Cackle said as she led Hecate down the hall to her office. 

“Truly Mrs. Cackle, the pleasure is all mine,” Hecate said, politely yet truthfully. Alma had positively wooed her with praise of her work and the promise of a state of the art lab of her own. She couldn’t wait to begin.

Alma opened the door to find her office already occupied. “Oh hello, dear. I’d like to introduce you to my daughter and your future colleague, Ada Cackle. Ada, this is Miss Hecate Hardbroom, our new potions mistress.”

Instinctively Hecate bent her head about to greet Miss Cackle properly when she realized what name had been spoken. Hecate stopped suddenly and looked up. 

The woman turned around and Hecate’s eyes widened in a panic. Ada. This was her Ada alright, the same brown hair twisting aimlessly, perhaps a bit shorter than she remembered it. The same delightfully curving body, perhaps grown a bit thicker in the middle over the passing years.

As Hecate has suspected, Ada had changed in her head slightly over time. She had formed her into a fantasy and in reality, she was not quite as perfect as Hecate had imagined. In reality, she was far better. 

She felt stunned to stupid silence. It was as if she was meeting the ghost who had been haunting her dreams in the light of the morning. Suddenly all the somethings she had imagined saying in the event that they were reunited were drowned in the din of her own nervous heartbeat, as she was thrust into a fantasy she had ceased considering would become real. 

“Hecate!” Ada exclaimed with surprise, and then looked immediately embarrassed. “Oh I don’t know if you’ll remember me but...”

“I remember,” Hecate said a bit too quickly. She paused, awkwardly realizing that her hasty interruption had obligated her to a somewhat longer answer. “We met at the educators’ retreat in Bristol. We had a rather good chat about... herbs.”

“Indeed and if I recall, we didn’t quite get to finish it,” Ada said, a wide smile blooming on her lips.

“No, we did not,” Hecate said, feigning a casual tone as well as she was able, trying her best to pretend that she hadn’t thought of their conversation countless times over the passing years.

“How interesting that you two know each other,” Alma interjected. “Well, I had planned on giving Miss Hardbroom here a tour of the grounds, but as it sounds as if you have some catching up to do, perhaps you would like to do it, Ada.”

Ada agreed and they exited the office onto the sloping greens of the courtyard. 

Ada looked as if she was steeling herself to say something that she wasn’t sure whether she ought. “This may sound a bit… melodramatic,” Ada began, “but it’s been one of my biggest regrets that I had to leave that conference a day early. I didn’t know that would be the case when I left our chat. I considered looking you up, you know. But I thought you might think it a bit… unwarranted.” Ada looked at Hecate hesitantly, nervous about overstepping the bounds of their practically nonexistent connection.

“I wouldn’t have thought that at all. I would have been grateful to hear from you,” Hecate said earnestly. “I would have looked you up myself but I didn’t know your last name,” she admitted shyly. 

Ada smiled, grateful for the admission and breathed deeply in relief. “In that case, I’m sorry that I didn’t seek you out sooner,” Ada said. “Luckily enough, you just showed up on my doorstep here,” she said with a laugh. “Perhaps it’s fate, if you believe in such things.”

“Perhaps” Hecate said, smiling, her eyes darting over to Ada as they walked, finding the mention of fate comforting for the first time in her life. 


End file.
